Like the first day of a new school; full of words you know but inside jokes you don't understand. Your contribution is politely considered and then discarded.
But it grows and you persevere, and soon you have fleeting glimpses of friendship and belonging.
I don't get poetry, but I am determined to be its friend.

This cover is so interesting to make up for the confusion that is the poems inside. I think I liked and understood maybe two...

Vecchio, nuovo, preso in prestito, blu
Il giorno in cui ci siamo incontrati.
Questa busta inaspettata.
La mia maglietta del San Francisco Mime Troupe che indossavi per gingillarti nell'appartamento, le cui maniche tagliate si abbinavano
Ai tuoi occhi.
Quella notte senza sonno.
Questa notte senza sonno.
La faccia che indosserò per stringerti la mano e augurarti il meglio.
Il modo in cui mi sentirò quando lo faccio.
"Paper Moon". La nostra canzone.
"Jesu,Joy of Man's Desiring".
Il mio Ella Live at Montreux che spero che lui metta su una notte per sbaglio e ti faccia piangere.
Questa squallida rassegna.

I love this book! The poems are so vivid and imaginative and so varied - from the surreal to the quietly insightful, from the funny to the moving. I've read the book twice and may read it again.

I'm fond of 'This Poem is Certificate 18' and enjoyed 'Nuns' and 'Christmas Night, 1930'. Some real nice imagery in those, but quite a lot of this shit left me cold...

a refreshing collection sprinkled with narrative meta.

《Vecchio, nuovo, preso in prestito, blu

Il giorno in cui ci siamo incontrati.
Questa busta inaspettata.
La mia maglietta del San Francisco mime Troupe che
   indossavi per gingillarti nell'appartamento, le cui
   maniche tagliate si abbinavano
Ai tuoi occhi.

Quella notte senza sonno.
Questa notte senza sonno.
La faccia che indosserò per stringerti la mano ed augurarti il
   meglio.
Il modo in cui mi sentirò quando lo faccio.

"Paper Moon". La nostra canzone.
"Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring".
Il mio Ella Live at Montreux che spero che lui metta su una
   notte per sbaglio e ti faccia piangere.
Questa squallida rassegna》

《LA CASA DEI QUATTRO VENTI
[...]
CAP. 11. Sangue
[...] Il selvaggio sollievo del sesso.

[...]
CAP. 13. Casa
La città che scintilla nella luce del sole
Mentew il cameriere portava il giornale del mattino.
Da quello fissava una faccia di... Oh,
Era ridicolo. I nervi di lei,
Il dottore diceva, erano fragili,
Lui era corretto, grazie a Dio,
Se odorava di whisky. Ma... quell'uomo
Era così familiare. Il suo nome era..
Cosa? Barba, vestito del mattino...
Lei esitò. Qualcosa si muoveva
All'orizzonte, rosso scarlatto, cieco,
Immenso. Una distante onda di fondo.
Una lunga fiamma di uomini e donne
Si baciavano ed estasiato, quel ruggito
Di migliaia nel cuore.
[...]》

A collection of poems written by Mark Haddon, the celebrated author of THE CURIOUS INCIDENT OF THE DOG IN THE NIGHTTIME, ranging from short paragraphs to a multi-section story and covering a wide range of topics from books to the death of a loved one.

Most noticeably Haddon uses a TON of language and symbolism. Some of it is very light like terms using the word dog and onomatopoeia for barking noises. Other times it is rich with classical allusions and obscure references. Thus it can provide great teaching opportunities but left unchecked could go right over many a YA's head. It follows the author's established wit with many humorous passages (the cover of the book has a spinning wheel that displays the title and illustrations in sections) but seems to mostly dwell on serious thoughts that can be very touching and contemplative. Additionally, Haddon's very specific details to create imagery is textbook perfect for study of poetic devices. Probably every reader could find a poem or two that s/he find significant but the references make enjoyment of the ENTIRE book a little inaccessible to casual and non-readers.

Genre: poetry, philosophy, reflection
Fulfills poetry requirement

I liked Trees and Poets. I think a lot of the rest just went over my head, but some phrases and images struck a chord.

This is Mark Haddon's new book of poems.

I did not like it.

There is one poem that I felt lukewarm feelings for. Read it below.

Overall Grade: 1 out of 5 stars.


Days

Leuconoe, stop examining your
Babylonian horoscopes
and wondering what kind of death
the gods have got in mind for us.

We'll never know. Accept it.
This winter pummeling the ocean
on the pumice rocks of Tuscany
may be our last.

Or not. Be sensible and pour the wine.
This life's too short for longing
and the clock spins as we speak.
Days come and go. Hold on to this one.

“Like plumbers and dentists, poets are fallible, and the possibility of genuine nonsense cannot be ruled out.”

My favorites here were “Trees” and “Great White.”